


Inquiry

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Conversations, Friendship/Love, M/M, Personal Favorite, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-19
Updated: 2006-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five defining moments between Greg and Ryan, once in the past and once in the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inquiry

 

 

One

 

“You don’t even _like_ me Ryan,” a young Greg had said, big glasses, crazy shirt and an attitude to match, thinking he could (and would) still conquer the world and Ryan with it. Ryan had grabbed the sides of his shirt, and had roughly pulled him closer, replying “You’re right, I don’t,” before guiding him into a long and drawn out battle of a kiss that Greg would almost have called romantic, if he would let himself think of it that way. 

Later, he couldn’t remember whether he had believed it or had seen it for the Ryan-style come-on line it probably was. At the time, it didn’t matter to him though; the sex was amazing, and he wasn’t expecting anything real anyway. 

\---

Now, as he said it again, fourteen years later on a stage with a soap opera style voice and lots of mimed almost-fainting and fanning, “You don’t even _like_ me Ryan,” he could tell by the flicker of recognition in Ryan’s eyes that he actually remembered. And when he was scooped up into a fake stage-kiss but genuine hug, he could feel a slight tremor in Ryan’s touch. 

After he let go, Ryan added, almost as an afterthought, “You’re right, I don’t, you’re a pain in the ass,” and then he laughed in that rare way that actually reached his eyes, making Greg’s heart beat just a tad faster. It never occurred to him to reply, “I don’t like you either, smartass,” but then again, Ryan already knew he loved him really. 

 

Two

 

“You love him more than me,” Greg had stated in a crowded bar, the thrumming beat of the music and the frantic dancing of the patrons drowning out most of his voice. Ryan had processed the idea, actually thinking about it, and when he replied Greg was surprised that for once he didn’t pretend not to know who he was talking about. “Maybe,” he had said with a sly, almost tempting grin around a shot of whiskey. “What is it to you?” 

Greg had laughed, an empty, mirthless gesture, and had replied, “Nothing, I guess.” 

On that note, Ryan had taken his hand and pulled him into the masses, dancing, grinding into him, until all he could think of was getting off right then and there, and when Ryan pulled him along to the men’s bathroom and kneeled down into god-knows-what to suck him off, he was shockingly _glad_ he had brought up the subject. 

\---

“So how’s Colin?” he asks after the show, and Ryan gives him one of his unreadable looks. “Don’t you know that better than I do?” he asks, and Greg think he can almost see a pang of something _possessive_ in his eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” he says with conviction, and he cups Ryan’s cheek, kissing him gently, long past caring who might see. 

 

Three

 

“It’s not like it’s an affair though,” a sated and naked Ryan had announced, completely out of the blue, while smoking a post-coital cigarette. “No?” Greg had asked into the pillow, still coming down from his own high, the sheets, warm and sticky, twisted around his legs, his head resting on his arms. 

“No,” Ryan had said while stubbing out his cigarette in the black ashtray they kept on the nightstand. 

“Do I want to know what it is then?” Greg had asked sleepily, keeping his eyes half-closed, holding onto the faint buzz of contentedness his entire body radiated. “No,” Ryan said again, a faint smile lingering around his lips, before he moved in close, covering half of Greg’s body with his own and pressing open-mouthed kisses onto his warm back. “Hmmm,” Greg had mumbled, stretching out like a cat under the caresses. “Hmmm,” Ryan had agreed, before their movements slowed, and almost unnoticed they fell asleep together. 

\---

“Is it an affair now?” Greg asked after the show ended and they, almost habitually, found themselves in a shared hotel room, covers and pillows thrown on the floor, their bodies still fitting as well together as they did over a decade before. “Oh no,” Ryan laughed, and Greg, who’s head was pillowed onto Ryan’s chest, couldn’t help but grin too. “Good,” he said, somewhere in between tasting the slightly salty tang of Ryan’s skin and tracing his hands over Ryan’s long legs. “Very good” Ryan agreed, before guiding Greg’s hand to where he preferred it and sighing contentedly. 

 

Four

“I love you, you know,” Ryan had said for the first and only time, sitting on the edge of a London balcony, the mild colors of an early sunrise lighting up his blonde curls. “You’re drunk,” Greg had snorted, a couple seconds too late to be actually funny, and Ryan had nodded, slowly, his eyes on the street below them. “Yeah.” 

Greg hadn’t trusted himself to reply, so he had muttered “beer” before getting up and going inside, his heart beating heavily. When Ryan followed him and wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, Greg had allowed himself to lean back into his chest, pressing his eyes shut for the burning he could feel in them. “Don’t-” 

“-I know,” Ryan had stopped him, whispering it into his ear along with a string of other suggestions. Greg had slowly turned away from Ryan’s arms, blindly reaching for another beer in their fridge while biting back a couple stubborn tears. 

\---

“Do we have any more beer?” Greg asked from the bed. Ryan, replying from the bathroom, mumbled, “Nah, we drank it all.” When he reappeared, dressed in nothing but a towel, he asked in a way that was designed to be casual but they both knew was not, “Do you want me to go get some more?” 

Greg smiled a brief, fond smile and said without thinking, “Wow Stiles, you really do love me don’t you?” 

Ryan laughed, a sudden and uncharacteristically jovial laugh, before coming over to the bed and trapping Greg underneath him. Fixing him with a playful twinkle in his eyes, he whispered into his ear, “It’s always about the beer with you isn’t it?” 

Greg, torn between a smile and a memory, pulled Ryan in one fierce movement to lie right on top of him, his nails digging into Ryan’s back, both Ryan and him tightening their embrace until it was outright _painful_ , but neither of them let go. 

 

Five

 

“God Ryan, I need you” Greg had moaned, head tilted backwards, unfocused eyes on the couple faded stars the polluted Los Angeles sky held. Ryan, half-over him and half-lying on the vaguely damp Lincoln park grass, had complied, switching his lubed fingers for his dick. 

Greg, hands digging into grass and dirt, had come first, with a breathy moan and silent shudder. Ryan, as always, had studied Greg’s face when he came, in particular how the moonlight and some of the park’s artificial lighting reflected in Greg’s glasses, knowing full well how it would annoy him. In reply Greg had deliberately raised one of his dirt-covered hands to run over Ryan’s neck and hair, and used the momentum to roll the both of them over so he was on top. 

A walk in the park had never been _just_ a walk with them. 

\---

After a fitful night’s sleep filled with nightmares and kicking each others legs, they still wake perfectly in tune with each other, Ryan with a familiar grunt and a searching hand, making sure he knows who he’s in bed with before even opening his eyes. Greg, who’s been used to this for over a decade now, snickering as he sees the expression on Ryan’s face when discovering it’s him. In reply, Ryan grunts again and pulls him closer in a move that is almost aggressive and almost comforting, his bare skin sweaty and still flushed with sleep. 

After they make love again that morning and neither of them are in a hurry for anything anymore, Greg feels an odd sense of honesty strike him. “I need you, you know,” he admits to the side of Ryan’s face as they are tangled in yet another almost-embrace. 

“I know,” Ryan says darkly in the general direction of half-smoked cigarettes, a pair of glasses, beer cans and used condoms on the nightstand, and Greg mentally rakes through a dozen cynical remarks he could make right then to deflect the tension. 

Instead, Ryan suddenly turns to actually look at him and traces a familiar hand over his cheek. “Me too.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
